Chapter 7: The En Passant

Francine's Townhouse

Early Saturday Morning

Sydney wiped the sweat from her forehead as she padded into the kitchen. Opening the freezer, she stood for a moment, letting the cold air washed over her as she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. The dream she'd had was a recurring one since she was a child. Every so often it would creep into her consciousness, usually when she was the most afraid, or stressed, about her family.

Pulling out a quart of ice cream, she grabbed a spoon and headed back to her room. It was quiet in the townhouse, Francie was asleep in her room upstairs. She'd heard her come in hours ago with Charlie. They'd been fighting. Spotting her Walkman that held her Dave Matthews Band 'Before These Crowded Streets' CD on the nightstand, she picked it up and went out onto the back patio. Curling up into the lounge chair, she filled her ears with the music as she dug into the ice cream.

These last couple of days had been surprising, both in good and bad ways. The sudden turn in her work that had her not only on a joint task force organized to take down an international terrorist organization, but also her assignments within the task force. First and foremost, spying on her own father and in relation to that, on Jack. She'd told Assistant Director Kendall about Jack being in the club and that he worked for her father. When she informed him that they were best friends, it had felt like a betrayal.

This was her family. Her mom was gone, and her dad and Jack were literally the only family she had left in the entire world. Ever since she found out about her father, Jack, and SD-6, all she's been doing was going back into her memories, trying to figure out what she'd missed. Her dad always kept his job from her and her mother. He never took calls in front of them, always was leaving during odd hours of the day and night. And Jack with his protection and stoicism, and his guns and knives.

She remembered a time years ago when she first learned to shoot a gun. It wasn't with the C.I.A., but with Jack. He'd taken her to a firing range upon her request. It'd been an enlightening experience, but one that still troubled her with how normal it'd felt. Even at the time it happened, she remembered thinking she'd done it before despite never remembering handling a gun before in her life.

Before she even touched the gun, Jack asked her a series of questions about gun safety. They went over everything in the car and he wanted to know what she remembered. "Four rules of gun safety," she said. "Remember "Treat", "Never", "Keep", and "Keep". Treat every weapon as if it were loaded. Never point the weapon at anything you don't intend to shoot. Keep your finger straight and off the trigger until ready to fire. Keep the safety on until ready to fire."

"And remember to never, ever, ever, point the gun at yourself. If it jams, keep it pointed forward. Wait at least five seconds, if nothing happens, rack the slide back, eject the round, and then shoot again. Am I clear?"

"Yes," she told him. "Never point the gun at myself. That goes under the second rule of gun safety."

"Okay," Jack said as he placed the empty gun in front of her. "I'm going to go over how to inspect and load-"

She picked up the gun and felt the weight of it in her hand. They had, before the gun safety questions, gone over all the parts of the weapon and she had to explain what they were and the purpose of each part. She checked the chamber to ensure it was empty and the safety to ensure it was on. As she grabbed the fully loaded magazine, she had the odd sensation like she'd done this before. She instinctively loaded it into the gun and hit the slide stop to release the slide forward while at the same time chambering a bullet.

Looking over at him, she saw a look on his face before it was gone. Surprise? No, that was it. It was something else. Concern? "How-How did I know that? It felt like...Nothing," she said suddenly; pushing her own concern away. "Now what?"

"I, um..." Jack cleared his throat as he gave a nod, as if he too had to push the concern away to be able to continue. He showed her how to stand before taking his own gun out and illustrating to her how to hold it. "I'm a lefty so you'll do the opposite. But, with your dominant hand, punch out with the weapon, keep your thumb down on the grip, below where the slide comes back or else you'll lose your skin."

She stared down at the gun and saw what he was talking about. Making sure her hand was correctly positioned, she kept the gun pointed "to the ready" as he called it while he finished his demonstration.

"Using your non-dominant hand, clasp it over your other hand, and pull back. Push. Pull. This creates a vice like grip that helps control recoil flip and prevents your gun from "flinching" as you press the trigger."

She gave a nod and faced the target that was only five yards away from her and did as Jack instructed. Using her right arm she punched the gun out in front of her, using the palm of her right hand to push forward as her left hand came up and gripped around her right, pulling back.

"Unlock your left elbow. Drop it slightly," he told her as he touched her left elbow. "Don't stick it out to the side. Just drop it straight down."

She did as she was told. Then, when she was ready, she used her thumb to hit the safety before lowering her finger to the trigger.

"Don't pull the trigger. Squeeze it. And don't anticipate-"

BANG!

She had aimed and squeezed the trigger until it fired, startling herself slightly. Smiling, she nearly giggled at how fun this was. Looking at the target, she saw she'd hit it exactly where Jack had instructed her to aim: center mass. "Ha. Nine points."

"Nice shot," Jack said as he stared at the target she'd hit.

"It's not like the target's far away."

"You'd be surprised at how many people can't hit a target three yards away yet alone five." Jack turned to her and said, "Never get in the habit of shooting one round. You'll want to shoot at least twice. More if you like, but at least twice. Or, until the person you're shooting at stops being a threat."

"What's the least amount of bullets you've had to use to take someone down?"

Jack hesitated a moment before telling her, "One. Now, this is very important." He took the gun from her and released the magazine into his hand. Handing it back to her, he asked, "Is it empty?"

She took it and shook her head as she told him, "No." Aiming toward the target, she squeezed the trigger. BANG! "There was a bullet loaded into the chamber after I fired the first one. Now it's empty," she said as she saw that the slide stop worked as it stopped the slide from going forward since the gun was empty.

Jack smiled. A real genuine soft smile that caused her to feel as if she'd pleased him. He was a very good teacher. They went through a couple of sets of firing, reloading, and then emptying the gun and ensuring it was safe before doing it again. Once they were both comfortable enough to know that she knew what she was doing, he moved the target back ten yards and then stepped over to the spot next to hers and started practicing himself. Since he was a lefty, he had to turn slightly toward her as he practiced. She watched him a moment, taking in his smooth movements and easy transitions from firing to reloading to firing again. His target was much further away, at least twenty five yards. He hit center mass every time, except for the occasional head shot.

She noticed his face and eyes as he practiced. He never once gave away any emotion. Calm. Cool. Unemotional.

Going back to practicing next to him, she couldn't help but think again how familiar this felt. Picking up an empty gun, going through the motions of examining it, loading it with a magazine and then releasing the slide.

Taking aim, she squeezed the trigger.

After all this time and knowing what she knows now, she couldn't help but wonder if Jack's decision to teach her how to shoot a gun was purely for self-defense and the know-how. Was he training her for a specific reason? Had they wanted her to join the "family business"? In essence, she had joined the business. She was C.I.A.. She had become a spy, just not for her father.

She looked up at the starless sky and knew there were stars up there that she couldn't see. So, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she laid outside and stared up into the vastness of space. Not too many memories came to mind. She'd seen the stars while on missions to foreign lands, but not too many times at home. There were some memories of being in the backyard at her family's house on the Potomac River. Still, nothing too vivid or memorable.

Then she remembered her dreams. The dreams that had caused her to be eating ice cream at two in the morning. First, there was pain. Horrible pain in her leg, like a Charlie horse but a hundred times worse. She had broken her leg when she was a child. She remembered it as clear as she remembered her last birthday with her mom. When she'd asked her parents about it years ago, neither one of them really gave her a clear answer. She was told it happened before they adopted her and that was it. Yet, now thinking back on it, she remembered feeling as if they knew more but didn't want to tell her. Were they protecting her by intentionally keeping things from her? Had she been lied to all these years?

She took a bite of the ice cream and thought about the dream that involved night skies and stars, fire pits and laughter. Fishing and hiking and then suddenly the pain. The horrible pain of a broken leg. During the pain, something happened to make it all go away. She had felt arms around her, under her, lifting her toward the blue sky and against a warm comforting chest. A man who she felt carried her for miles and miles to safety. She felt as if he were the strongest man she'd ever known. The bravest man.

It'd been her father; her real father. She knew in her heart that it was him in her dream. She would look up, toward his face, but she couldn't see it as the sunlight blinded her eyes. She could never picture him in her mind. Both her parents had faceless faces and indistinguishable voices. There was only one thing she knew about them, the only thing that stuck with her all these years: they loved her.

She knew that one thing to be true. She felt it in that memory of a broken leg and being carried for miles by her father. His love was evident. It filled her with warmth and gratitude knowing the truth of her biological parents as she struggled with the uncertainty of her current situation.

It felt as if a stone had settled on her shoulders weighing her down the day she found out her dad could be a criminal terrorist. She couldn't be angry at him or Jack because she didn't know for certain how informed they were of SD-6's true motivations and allegiance. Instead what she felt was apathy, a cold numbness that spread over her body and into her heart.

She hated feeling that way. Hated the thoughts of mistrust and treason and disloyalty that plagued her mind in relation to her own family. And within her own self. How could she not have known? Better yet, what was she going to do about it?

There was a part of her that wanted to know the truth so she could feel good about taking her dad, and SD-6 down. But there was another part, a deep dark part of her, that felt since these people involved were her family, that she owed them. Not owing her trust that they weren't the bad guys, but that if they were the bad guys, she owed them her help, her trust, and conflict that raged in her was what caused her to put an end to her emotions all together. She had to remain apathetic because if she let herself feel then she might do something she regretted.

Treason against her own country.


Vienna, Austria

Saturday Night

A man named Alexander Khasinau had been behind the McKenas Cole infiltration of SD-6 a few months ago. All they knew about him was that he was Russian and currently moving shipments in and out of Vienna. One of their undercover agents who's been working within the embassy, Kyle Wexler, had sent out a message that he'd obtained a microchip with all of Khasinau's transactions. The only way for Agent Wexler to get the microchip out of the embassy was person-to-person. He wanted to do a brush pass during the annual Maslenitsa celebration.

Maslenitsa was considered the oldest surviving Slavic holiday. In Slavic mythology, Maslenitsa was a sun-festival, personified by the ancient god Volos, and a celebration of the imminent end of winter. In the Christian tradition it was the last week before the start of Great Lent. It was the last week to enjoy foods such as eggs, milk, cheeses and other types of dairy foods, so foods that have become the staple of the celebration were pastries, pancakes and crêpes that Russians called blini. The huge parties that were orchestrated were also due to the fact that Lent excluded parties, secular music, dancing and anything that distracted from spiritual life and prayer.

He'd arranged for himself to be an invited guest under the alias Fredrick Kurz. Kurz was a representative of the Austria Human Rights Commission that ensured peaceful relationships between Vienna and other countries, including that of Russia. The masquerade ball was "black tie" which required him to wear a tuxedo along with a celebrational masquerade mask. Carrie had equipped his cufflinks to emit a reflective light that only the other agents could see by use of contact lenses specifically created by SD-6 and given to their undercover agents in the field when needed.

He'd been at the embassy for nearly half an hour before anyone, aside from needy women, approached him. As he ate a delicious blini garnished with smetana and strawberry jam, he felt someone step up beside him.

"I don't know how you can eat those things, especially with caviar."

Jack picked up another blini off the appetizer table and garnished it with smetana and caviar just to annoy the agent. He recognized the voice immediately, having been the one to assign the two agents to their deep undercover work five years ago. Last year, Noah Hicks had gotten a position as an attaché, a member of the Russian diplomatic corps. "I was expecting Wexler." Agent Kyle Wexler had been undercover as an executive secretary.

"You're going to be disappointed in his performance."

"How so?" he asked as he turned to face the agent who was doing the talking.

Agent Noah Hicks stood next to him wearing a mask as he picked up a thin flute filled with champagne. Jack preferred the traditional Russian drink: vodka. He finished his glass as he ate the blini and closed his eyes. So good.

"He's dead."

That was unexpected. Jack licked off the smetana he'd gotten on his finger as he thought about how to handle the situation.

"He had the microchip. I can get to it. All I'll need is a distraction to get there. It's…" Noah gestured toward a hallway as he said, "in a storage room that way. It's off limits and there are guards."

"How many?"

"Two."

"What else is down that hallway?" he asked as he picked up another blini.

"Offices, more restrooms-"

Jack turned quickly, shoving the blini into Noah's mouth. The agent gagged and coughed at the sudden pastry being stuck down his throat. He grabbed him around the waist and headed toward the hallway as Noah continued to gag and struggle to breathe. Halfway down the hallway, he spotted the signs for the restrooms as two guards walked around the corner.

"You can't be here. This is a restricted area."

Jack pounded on Noah's back as he said, "I was trying to get him to the restroom. He's choking! I think he's going to get sick!"

As one of the guards leaned down to check on Noah, the other went to grab his radio. Jack quickly grabbed his hand and twisted it back the moment he heard Noah knocking the other guard to the ground. He slammed the guard into the wall and used his elbow against his left jaw to knock him unconscious.

Noah yanked off his mask as he turned to him and asked, "Why'd I have to be the one choking and gagging?"

"Where's this storage room?"

Noah led the way as they headed off down the hallway. "The ambassador's on Khasinau's payroll. So is the embassy security. Khasinau ships everything through here so he doesn't have to deal with the police or customs-"

Jack stepped into the storage room and spotted all the crates and boxes, and a chamber. "Where's the microchip?"

"In here," Noah told him as he stepped over to the chamber and typed in a code. It opened and Jack saw Wexler's frozen dead body. "I think it's on his person-"

"No," Jack said with no uncertain certainty, "he swallowed it." He pulled out a knife from his back left pocket and flicked it open. "I'm going to start at the esophagus. If it isn't there, then we'll open his stomach." He jabbed the knife through the Adam's apple, deep enough to penetrate past the trachea, and then cut down toward the sternum. Wiping the blade clean on Wexler's shirt, he snapped it shut and put it back into this back pocket.

It took him a moment to move all the tissue and muscles around to see inside the throat, but once he did he spotted something that looked plastic. "There."

"I see it." Noah reached in as he kept the throat spread apart and pulled out the microchip. "Got it. Let's-"

Jack grabbed him and tripped him to the floor as he twisted his right arm back, making him drop the microchip.

"Ahhh! What're-"

He picked up the microchip off the floor and pocketed it as he yanked Noah up by his right arm. Once he was standing, he jabbed his elbow into the back of Noah Hick's head, in the spot several inches behind his left ear, sending him limping unconscious into his arms. Lifting him up and over his shoulders, he headed toward the exit out of the storage room used by Khasinau to smuggle his illegal crates.

It led down a long tunnel that ended at another door that exited out past the Embassy's wall. Jack had parked his rental at the corner. Using the keys, he unlocked the trunk and deposited Noah into it then taped his mouth shut and used a pair of flexi-cuffs to secure his arms behind his back. He slammed the trunk hood shut and looked around; he didn't notice anyone around as he got into the driver's seat and drove away from the embassy.


The BUNKER Bookstore

Saturday Day

There were books surrounding him from all directions except from above. He felt like he was drowning in books. He normally wouldn't have minded but the bookstore that was located in the basement of UCLA smelled musty. It also had that old book smell that hurt his head. He knew the smell was due to the degradation of the organic materials in the books, but it didn't stop him from hating it. Some people actually liked the smell. Weirdos.

Vaughn spotted the person he was looking for buried ass deep in a pile by a desk that held the cash register. There was no option for a credit card. Either pay with cash or you didn't get the book you wanted. Clearing his throat, he smiled as her eyes met his.

Alice smiled wide and jumped up to wrap her arms around him. "Michael! Hey, oh my God, how've you been?"

He squeezed her in his arms for a brief moment before letting her go. "I'm good. How're you?"

Alice Williams had once been his girlfriend. His college sweetheart, actually. He nearly married her a few years ago. Then, somehow, they lost one another. She stopped loving him. He blamed his work for always keeping him away. She blamed herself for not being enough, that he needed his job more than he needed her. One day he came home and she was gone.

There had been a few times, over the past two years, where they had reconnected. Mostly drunken flings and late night talks when they'd both been overwhelmed by life and loneliness.

The way she pulled at the lapel of his suit and messed with his tie told him she thought he was there for one of those flings now as she asked, "What brings you around here, stranger?"

He reached up and grabbed her hand to stop her flirting. "Not that." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a list of books titles, along with the authors and editions. They were all rare. And they had all been in Jack's C.I.A. file. "I need you to find these books for me. The exact ones. They can't be any other copies but what's here."

She took the list from him and looked it over. "I might have an idea where to look." Alice then looked him over as she said, "I'll help you out, on one condition."

He huffed out a laugh as he shook his head. "I'm not having sex-"

"I was going to say have dinner with me," she said as she went to hand the piece of paper back to him. "Or you can get someone else."

Vaughn went to snatch the paper away when she pulled it back. She always was a tease, he thought as he said, "I don't have time for this."

"You used to like being teased. What changed?" she asked, more serious this time as she tossed the piece of paper onto the table. She looked at his left hand and said, "You're not married."

No, he wasn't, but he did meet someone he really liked. Vaughn had asked Kate Jones for her number the other night after they shared a couple of drinks and got to know one another a little better. He had wanted to take her back to his apartment, but he decided not to. Several reasons went into that decision, which had been incredibly hard to make, and the most important reason had been that he wasn't who he said he was. Kate believed him to be Henri Thomas. He had diplomas on his wall with his real name printed on them. There was no way explaining that to anyone.

Another reason was the woman standing in front of him. It wasn't that he wanted her back, it was the fact that this quid pro quo had become part of his, their, lives. Now that he was interested in someone else, he had to tell Alice that she couldn't call him anymore. There would be no more showing up in the middle of the night. No more dinners or drinks or quickies in the bookstore, which only happened once. But it happened.

Vaughn let out a breath as he told her, "I met someone, and I really like her, Alice. It's new and-"

Her face dropped and a hardness settled into her normally vibrant face. She was hurt. It wasn't like they were really dating or together. He had just become someone she could rely on to be there. At least that was what he'd been telling himself since they broke up. She could've thought differently. Hell, she probably still loved him.

The ache that suddenly hurt his chest had been unexpected. He thought this would be easy. Instead, he wished he could've undid everything he'd just done. Not for himself, but for her. To save her the pain.

Alice stepped away from him and said, "Good. I'm happy that you're moving on, finding someone. I wish you the best."

She sounded detached. She didn't mean any of the words she'd spoken. Vaughn sighed and looked at the list of books on the desk. "If you get me those books, I'll owe you. Anything. Anytime. Anywhere."

"Except it wouldn't be what I really want."

He swallowed hard and shook his head. This was all his fault. He never should have kept going back. Never should have kept answering the phone when she called. He'd been leading her around, making her think that they might get back together one day. "I'm sorry," he said. "I never meant-"

"I know. It's not like I didn't fool myself into thinking we still had a chance."

That hit his chest hard and he turned away. "Thank you. I should-" he didn't finish as he walked away. There was nothing left to say.


Vienna, Austria

Early Sunday Morning

The Belvedere was a historic building complex in Vienna, Austria, consisting of two Baroque palaces-the Upper and Lower Belvedere-along with the Orangery, and the Palace Stables. The Palace also housed the Belvedere museum. The grounds of the palace included decorative tiered fountains and cascades, Baroque sculptures, and majestic wrought iron gates. It'd been built as a summer residence for Prince Eugene of Savoy. During any other visit, Jack would have taken in the sights, the museum, and the beauty of the grounds. Today he wasn't interested in the history or the beauty of the palace, but of the man in the grey suit smoking a cigarette near a tiered fountain in the Belvedere gardens. Niels Hater was his name. He was an SD-6 asset who'd been selling them information for years. He was the so-called "Austrian connection" in Vienna.

Stopping beside him, Jack stared at the water spouting out of the fountain and then up at the night sky.

"It's four o'clock in the morning, Jack. What'd I owe the pleasure of a one-on-one? Usual communique-"

"Usual channels are compromised. I think we have a mole."

Niels didn't turn to him, instead, he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his shoe. A pair of expensive wingtips, he was certain. Jack looked down and caught sight of the wedding band on Niels's hand. He'd gotten married since the last time he'd seen him face-to-face. "I can reassure you it isn't me."

Jack went back to watching the water in the fountain as he said, "I'm here because I heard a rumor. Kholokov is testing what are being called "next generation" weapons. I need to know where Kholokov's testing facility is located."

Niels pulled out a silver case and opened it. Taking out another cigarette, he offered him one. Jack waved him off. As he lit the smoke, he told him, "I don't know Kholokov."

Jack turned to him. "That's interesting, seeing how in 1992, Kholokov, who was formerly KGB, joined a criminal organization that sold black market weapons and pharmaceuticals. The same criminal organization that you infiltrated three years ago. The Tirad."

Niels puffed at the cigarette and turned to face him as he said, "I heard about Lafayette." Jack didn't look away; didn't do anything as Niels puffed away on the cigarette and blew smoke in his face. "Now, you're coming around here asking about Kholokov."

"Need I remind you-"

"You don't need to remind me of anything, Jack. I know why you're interested in Kholokov and his exploits, but, it'll cost you." Jack continued to stare at Niels until he told him, "Budapest. You know about the magistrate bureau?"

Jack gave a nod as he remembered his Cold War history. "The bomb shelter. That's his testing facility? How many of these next gen weapons does he have there?"

"Currently? Sixteen."

Jack felt his body grow cold as he stared at Niels Hater and thought about the sixteen "next generation" children currently undergoing training to become weaponized as sleeper agents. Looking around at the grounds, there weren't many people touring around the gardens at that time in the morning. He spotted only a couple of people. Members of the grounds crew? "Tell me about the prison in London. The one near the Thames River."

It'd been a long shot asking that question, but he wanted to gauge Niels's reaction. Niels stilled a moment before taking the cigarette from his mouth. The Austrian had a habit of using the tips of his forefinger and thumb if he was being highly precautious in his demeanor. That was all he needed to see to know his answer. Niels knew something. He tried to hide it but it was too late. "Jack," he said his name as if it were a warning.

"Since you seem to know me so well, then you should've known that I always know more than you think I do."

Niels looked away, his jaw tense as he shook his head. "Lafayette. Had to be," he said mostly to himself.

"I know, Niels. I know the who," or at least he knew of his daughter. Jack really didn't have much, but if Niels believed he did, he might get some more information. "What I don't know is the exact location and why it's so significant-"

"And you think they trust me with that information? Or that I would tell you if I did? God, Jack, if they even thought I was talking to you about this-"

"Who? The Tirad?"

"The Tir-" Niels stopped and stared at him in surprise. "You-you don't know? Oh, hell-" Niels looked around then, sudden suspicion and fear in his eyes and actions as he dropped the cigarette into the fountain. "I can't, Jack. I can't. You need to leave it alone," he said as he went to walk away.

Jack grabbed him by the arm to keep him from leaving. "Who?" he asked again.

Niels shook his head, telling him, "The Tirad is just a front, Jack. That's all I can tell you." His eyes started darting around again. He was terrified. He was also a dead man.

Jack breathed out heavily as he knew that was all he would get from the man. "You don't want to forget your payment," he said as he reached around to his back left pocket.

Niels shook his head and said, "To hell with the pay-"

Jack had the knife's blade shoved into Niels's femoral artery before he knew what happened. He twisted, severing the artery and making sure the wound wouldn't close, before pulling the knife out. Niels gapped at him as he hit his knees before falling forward to the ground. In less than fifteen seconds Niels would be unconscious and less than two minutes after that, he'd be dead.

Jack turned and walked away.


Leming Letterman, LLC

Monday Early Afternoon

Jack had left Friday night and had been gone all weekend. So, Will spent his time waiting for Jack's return by going over everything he had again on the Antonio Lafayette story. He poured over all the files and the GPS tracker data and mapped it all out over a street map of Los Angeles. He was certain Amy thought he'd lost his mind. It was like he was trying to solve the case instead of writing a story on the murder. But, that was exactly what he was doing, or trying to do. The police literally wrote it off as an unsolved homicide. That was it. He knew there was something else going on, and all roads lead back to Anicetus Security.

Then, Will had a thought. He needed to "follow the money", as the saying went, which had been made famous by a movie about journalists: "All the President's Men". Oddly enough, it'd been a movie Jack had also referenced when they first met. He'd made a discovery after he re-examined the bank records of Antonio Lafayette. There had been a transaction made from an international institution into Lafayette's account the day before he was killed. It'd been a lot of money in a bank account that was dwindling in money. Anicetus Security was an international organization, but he couldn't confirm if they were the source of the funds.

Then, oh, then he remembered Charlie. Corporate lawyers had all kinds of access to key assets and liabilities for their clients, such as financial statements, real estate holdings, and employment agreements. He made an appointment Monday afternoon and was seen right away the moment he arrived.

Charlie didn't greet him at his desk, but at the elevator the moment he stepped off onto the twelfth floor. He didn't look happy. "What's going on, Will? You said this was important."

"I'm covering a story. A military attaché with the French Consulate here in L.A. was murdered."

"What does that have to do with me?" Charlie asked as he walked him back to his office and shut the door.

"A couple of weeks before he died-" Will stopped himself as he looked out the window and over the city. "Oh, wow, that's a nice view."

"I swear you're like a dog. No attention span."

Will turned back to Charlie and saw him laughing. He rolled his eyes as he said, "At least I pay attention to what's important." He didn't mean to say that. He also didn't mean for it to come out the way it did; like it'd been an accusation.

Charlie's smile dropped and he stepped up to him. "Did you come here to insult me or ask for my help? 'Cause if it's the insults, there's the door."

"I'm sorry, I didn't-" he shook his head and went over to the chair and sat down. "I really do need your help. Before he was killed, he visited one of your clients. Anicetus Security."

"Isn't that your boyfriend's employer?"

"Yes, but he was out of the country when all this happened. Well, except for the murder, he was there for that?"

Charlie stared at him in confusion and asked, "He what?"

"No, not like that," Will quickly said as he realized how that sounded. "He didn't kill him. Look, there's a financial transaction from an unknown source into the victim's bank account. I think it was from Anicetus Security. I can't confirm that unless I have their financial information."

Charlie leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "What you want me to do is not only unethical-"

"I did you a favor."

His eyes snapped open at those words. Charlie glared over at him as he said, "It's not going to happen."

"I did you a favor by not telling Francie that you were cheating," Will said. "You owe me."

Charlie glared at him before standing. Will flinched a little, thinking he was going to come after him when he walked to the window and stared out over the city. He was breathing heavily as he said, "It'd been a mistake."

"If it was only a mistake Francie would know by now. We both know it's more than that. I'm keeping a secret from my best friend because you said-"

"I know what I said, Will," Charlie said as he turned to face him, "but things are different now."

Will felt the anger he'd been holding back fill his chest and hands as he stared over at Charlie. "You're not going to tell her, are you?" When Charlie didn't answer, he said, "Then I will."

"It's not your place-"

"Yes, it is. She's my friend." Will wanted to get up and leave right then, but he realized he really needed the information Charlie could provide. The weight he suddenly felt, the decision he had to make then was one of the hardest things he had to do. Glaring over at Charlie, he said, "Access the files I need, and... I'll forget all about it."

Charlie hesitated as he stared at him. "What? Just like that, you'll-"

"Just like that," Will said as he swallowed down the guilt that gripped his throat. He leaned forward in the chair as he told him, "You can have plausible deniability. Bring up what I need on your computer, then leave the office to get us a cup of coffee. I'll be gone before you get back."

"I'm not-...This is-"

"Charlie, it's simple. You can either save your relationship with Francie or not. What's it going to be?"

Charlie didn't look happy at all as he sat back down at his desk and started typing on the computer. "You should add blackmail to your resume."

"Maybe I will," Will shot back. His hands started to shake and he clenched them on top of his notebook so Charlie wouldn't see. He had no idea where that bravado had come from, but it shook him a little. He didn't go around blackmailing people.

He also didn't go around betraying his friends.

Charlie was done and abruptly stood. "It'll only take me about five minutes to get the coffee-"

"I'll be gone." Will waited until Charlie was gone before he rounded the desk and sat down in the chair.

He printed off everything Leming Letterman had on Anicetus Security. As he was about to get up to gather the printed pages, he saw another file in the same folder at Anicetus Security. He clicked on it and it brought up a list of more clients. Will skimmed the list and decided to print it off as well. It appeared as if they all were all a part of the same group.

Getting up, he gathered the pages off the printer and stuffed them into his bookbag before leaving the office. He got to the elevator as he spotted Charlie heading back to his office with two cups of coffee. Or water, something that he would be drinking alone in his office.

As he got outside and reached his truck, the phone in his pocket rang. It was "Deep Throat" again. He'd been ignoring the calls and was going to keep ignoring it until he spotted the note taped to his steering wheel telling him to answer the call.

Will balled the note up and tossed it into the back as he went to start the engine when nothing happened. He tried to start the truck again and nothing. Not even a 'clicking' sound. It was dead. Getting out, he popped the hood and walked around to the front. Lifting the hood, he dropped it quickly and stared at the truck in front of him as the cell phone rang again.

Fumbling with the phone, he pulled it out and answered, "What'd you want?!"

"I want you to stop ignoring me, Mr. Tippin," the mechanical voice told him.

"You...There's a-an, uh, a device on my engine. Is it a bomb?"

"Don't worry, it's not live. Yet. I needed to get your attention. As I said, you've been ignoring me. Keep ignoring me, and I will activate it."

Will swallowed as he looked around. He was certain this guy drove a BMW. That reminded him that he had a license plate number he needed his contact at the DMV to run for him. His eyes darted around the parking lot, the street, but it was impossible to know if any of the BMW's he saw belonged to the caller. "I haven't...You want to know what I found. I'm currently at a standstill. I don't have anything new."

The line went quiet for a moment. Will almost thought he'd hung up until he heard, "You can tell me about the man you've been talking to."

Will stilled as he realized "Deep Throat" was asking about Jack. "Why? What does he have to do with any of this?"

"I know you've been to his place of employment. I know the information you have acquired led you there. I can add. Can you?"

He fought hard to breathe. This was getting out of hand. He was-There was a bomb in his truck! Now this asshole was asking him about Jack. Making vague accusations about Jack. Will felt his hands start shaking as he said, "There's nothing to tell you about him. He's a friend. That's it."

"A friend you're intimately friendly with. I think you have plenty to tell me about him. You will answer all my questions, Mr. Tippin, or else…"

The caller didn't have to tell him what the "or else" meant. Will was starting to realize how incredibly fucked he was. He had no other option. "What is it you want to know?"

"See. Was that so hard? I demand the upper most level of cooperation, Mr. Tippin, from here on out. Is that clear?"

Nodding into the phone, he answered, "Yeah...I get it." And he did. This guy was psycho.

"Good. Tell me everything you know about Jack Donahue."

Will wondered if this was what "Deep Throat" had always wanted for him. He started off acting like an informant and now was threatening him for information on Jack. Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes and said, "Go to hell."

He didn't bother hanging up as he tossed the cell phone into the truck and he quickly grabbed out his bag that held all his notebooks and papers and his keys. Will locked the door before slamming it shut as he looked around and started walking as quickly as possible to get as far away from his truck. He'd gotten halfway to the corner before an explosion knocked him off his feet, sending him falling to the ground. He covered his head as he felt a wave of heat spread over him before it was gone.

Peering through his arms, he saw his truck completely destroyed and on fire. He stared in shock at the flames and the thought that he could've been inside it. He could've been dead right now. But he wasn't. He was alive.

But for how long?

Will stumbled to his feet, pulled his book bag over his shoulders, and started running.


U.S. Joint Intelligence Task Force

Monday Morning

Kendall gathered everyone into the conference room for a briefing. Sydney joined Dixon and Marshall as the Assistant Director walked around the table and greeted a woman who'd entered the room. Turning to them, he introduced her, "This is Doctor Kerr. She's joining us for this briefing because she's the C.I.A.'s expert on the Intel we've recovered from the French Consulate. Doctor Kerr," he gave her the floor as he took a seat.

Doctor Kerr looked around at them as she got down to business. "On Lafayette's hard drive there had been a file that contained information about many top secret C.I.A. projects and missions. We're not certain what he was doing with this Intel and who or where he acquired it, but that's another issue. Right now the issue at hand is related to a C.I.A. black ops program that'd been commissioned in the mid-70's and then supposedly disbanded in 1982. The program, known as Project Christmas, had been obtained by the KGB in the '80's. The project's objective was to train children to be sleeper agents for future use as spies."

"And the C.I.A. approved this project?" Sydney asked as she stared at Kendall. "American children were subjected to this "training"?"

"They were," Kendall said as he leaned on the table, "but how many is currently unknown. It never made it to governmental approval, or, at least not on our side of the iron curtain. There would've only been a handful of children that had been subjected to this program and only used in the initial stages."

"You mean as test subjects to work out the logistics and kinks," Dixon said beside her. Making it clear that he too didn't like the idea of children being used, and trained, to be sleeper agents.

Kerr held up her hands as she said, "I'm not going to justify the things our government did during the height of the Cold War. Like I said, it was disbanded by our government. The KGB obtained the specifics of the program and adopted it for use in Russia. You would think after the Cold War ended, so would the use of this type of experimentation."

"More like indoctrination," Sydney said as she read over the key aspects of Project Christmas.

"That's exactly what it was, and still is: an indoctrination into the spy world. The best spies have certain traits - proficiency with numbers, three dimensional thinking, creative problem solving - these abilities are all in evidence as early as five years old. Children from six to seven years of age are the ideal candidates for the program. At that age, they acquire knowledge at an incredible rate, the basic skills of marksmanship, linguistics, and visual cue recognition can be taught in a matter of weeks."

Sydney looked over the information they were given as she asked, "Why, with all the Intel we acquired from the hard drive is this what we're focusing on?"

Kerr looked to Kendall. Kendall stood as they switched places; she sat while he stood. "Yesterday a Tirad affiliate by the name of Niels Hater was found murdered in Austria, around that time we also received intel that Valerie Kholokov has a facility in Budapest, where sixteen "new generation" weapons are being tested. How are these related, you may ask? Kholokov is also affiliated with the Tirad. And the weapons that are being tested are children. We suspect that Kholokov has adapted Project Christmas and is currently putting it to use. Your mission is to gain access to the facility, identify the "weapons" to verify they are, in fact, children and that the indoctrination they are being subjected to is related to Project Christmas. We also need you to retrieve the data off the central server. Any questions?"

"-Are the children affected by the training-"

"-Who's Valerie Kholokov?"

Sydney looked to Dixon who looked over at her as they both asked a question over top of one another. Then they looked at Kerr and Kendall for an answer.

"I'll answer both," Kerr said before regarding them. "All we really know about Kholokov is that he used to run KGB's psych ops division," she answered. "Mind control experiments using psychoactive drugs. When the KGB dissolved, he joined the Tirad. As for the children who undergo the program, their memories are reset. They don't remember anything other than the experience was both "very satisfying and rewarding". Now, that is the key phrase they're programmed to repeat when asked or if they happen to talk about that time in their lives when they went through the program. It's an indicator to other agents, or handlers, that they have been trained using Project Christmas."

"The KGB ran mind control experiments," Marshall suddenly said in disbelief.

Kerr smiled as she told him, "So did we."

"Alright," Kendall said as he gestured to Marshall, "get with Marshall for the ops tech. You'll be heading out at thirteen hundred."

Once Assistant Director Kendall and Doctor Kerr were out of the room, Marshall said, "Did we just enter into another dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind? Were they serious, mind control? Isn't that very Twilight Zone-esque? I'm all for a good conspiracy-Oh! This reminds me of the Montauk Project conspiracy theory at Camp Hero in Montauk, New York. Have either of you...No? No? Nevermind," Marshall said as he stood and suddenly pulled out a tube of chapstick. "Let's talk chapped lips, shall we?"

Sydney glanced over at Dixon who was barely holding himself together as he shook his head. Sydney chuckled as she turned her attention back to Marshall.


Over the Continental United States

Monday Afternoon

"Calm down, I can't-"

"He tried to kill me!"

Jack felt his body grow cold at those words. He leaned forward as he asked into the phone, "Who?"

Will's voice was stressed, his breathing rapid, as his words were coming fast. He was tripping over his own tongue as he told him, "My, uh, the caller, "Deep Throat". The stalker guy that's been following me! He-There was a bomb in my-He blew up my truck, Jack! He wanted to know about-about Antonio Lafayette, and you! I told the psycho nothing. I didn't say anything, and I ran, Jack, I just ran and I'm-...I have no idea where I am right now. I just had to get away. I don't know if he followed me here. I'm-" he stopped and then got back on the line, "I'm on a payphone. I ditched my Noka. I was afraid to use it. Was that good? Did I-" He stopped again and said, "I'm in a parking garage near the Civic Center."

Jack immediately told him, "You did good. Listen to me, do not take the main roads or a taxi. Get to the metro-"

"You want me to take the subway?"

"Yes. It's going to take you time, but I need you to do exactly as I say. Okay?" When he didn't receive an answer, he said, "Will?"

"I'm here. Sorry, I'm here."

"Focus, Tippin. I need you to do this exactly right. Take the subway that will get you the closest to the Rendezvous. You do know what train that is, don't you?"

"The rendezvous? Wh-Oh...yeah, okay, right. The Rendezvous, got it. I know what train to take."

"When you're on the train, keep moving from car to car, do not sit down or stand in one spot. Keep moving. Every other stop, get off the train. Leave the station, then backtrack to the station you passed, get on the train again. Do that the entire way to the last stop. When you get off the train, go to the row of payphones. Wait there. A man, someone you're familiar with, will approach you-"

"Jack-"

"Will! You need to do this. If this stalker of yours blew up your truck, he will come after you. Repeat what I said." After Will repeated what he said, impressively verbatim, Jack continued, "You'll recognize the man when you see him. Go with him. When he asks you where you're going, give him directions to the Rendezvous. He'll take you the rest of the way." He breathed out as he told him, "It'll be okay. I'll be in L.A. in less than three hours. It might take me longer to get to you, but I will be there."

"Please hurry." Will went quiet a long moment before saying, "I, uh...I really-Jack, I appreciate this. I...I gotta go."

"You'll do fine," Jack told him again as he willed it to be true. "Keeping moving."

"I will. I-I, uh, I...Jack...See you soon."

Jack wondered what Will could have been tripping over his words not to say as he ended the call and looked over at Noah Hicks who was struggling on the floor of the cargo plane. His hands were bound with the flexi-cuffs and his mouth still taped shut. Jack grabbed him by his arms and pulled him along the floor until he slammed his back against the cargo bay door. The C-141 Starlifter was an decommissioned Air Force cargo jet that SD-6 had bought and reconfigured for their missions. In the cargo hold was also a HH-60 Ghost Hawk helicopter they used for missions that required stealth deployment or extraction. He stood in front of the helicopter as he stared down at the bound man who was trying to speak to him behind the tape.

Reaching over, he yanked off the tape as Noah groaned and then said, "You've lost it, Jack. What'd think you're doing? You hit me! Tie me up and-"

"You should be glad I got you first before the Russian Mob."

Noah stopped abruptly as he stared over at him. "The Russian Mob? I don't-"

"I'm getting sick and tired of people treating me like I don't know what I'm talking about," he said as he stepped up to Noah and stared down at him. "If you say the words "I don't know" one more time." Jack pulled his gun from his left hip and a silencer from his right jacket pocket. He secured the silencer onto the gun as he stared down at him. "I'll start putting holes in you."

Noah started shaking his head as he said, "This is bullshit."

"You're the one who's dying to keep me guessing." Jack aimed the gun at him as he asked, "Who, besides SD-6, are you working for?" As Noah went to talk, he held up a hand to stop him. "I'll also shoot if you tell me an equivalent phrase that implies that I have been misinformed."

"What if I don't say anything?"

Jack stared at him as he said, "I'll lower the ramp."

Noah's face paled as he turned his head to look at the closed ramp door behind him. "We'll both be sucked out of the plane."

"I'll ensure I remain safe and secure. Can't say the same about you." Jack checked his watch as he told him, "You have sixty seconds to start talking before I end you. One way or another."

Noah fought hard against not saying anything as he clamped his mouth shut, but he saw his defiance breaking as he banged his back against the door and shook his head in anger. "Damn it, Jack!"

"Bank Africana. Forty-seven million dollars. You have multiple offshore accounts open in various aliases. You were skimming from the Russian mob, yes, but on many occasions you were unavailable. Your excuses ranged from vacations to business trips. Truth was, you were on assignment-"

"I was on assignment," Noah answered. "For SD-6! Those side missions were assigned to me by-"

"I'm the only one assigning side missions to undercover agents-"

"Sloane has authority over you, Jack!" Noah snapped as he glared up at him. "The orders came from him."

"All of them?"

"Yes!"

"Even the ones that required the expertise of the Snowman." Jack watched as Noah stilled in surprise as he felt the edges of his lips twist up slightly. Noah had no idea he knew, but he did. "When you're the Snowman, who do you work for?"

He swallowed hard as he looked away and shook his head. Noah was still wanting to fight with him, so he shot him. The bullet blew through Noah's right shoulder and embedded itself into the metal ramp behind him. Noah screamed out in pain as he doubled over. He groaned and cussed into the floor then said, "The Tirad!"

As he stared down at Noah, he asked, "The Tirad is a front! What is it really? Who's in charge?"

Noah shook his head into the floor before sitting up straight. Blood was soaking his arm and chest from the gunshot wound as he glared up at him and said, "Sloane told you, didn't he? About me being the Snowman. Look, Jack, I've got the goods on Sloane, something you'll want to hear. All I need you to do is promise me you won't kill me. I'll help you. We can work together."

Jack realized the slip Noah had made. The only way Sloane would've known Noah was the Snowman was if Sloane himself was also with the Tirad. He wished he could've been surprised by that knowledge, but nothing surprised him anymore when it came to Arvin. He'd always been in it for himself. "Any promise made depends on the information you have to tell me."

"It's about his daughter."

Jack stared at Noah as he said, "Sydney? What about her?"

"Listen to me, Jack. You and I both know the truth about SD-6. We're not C.I.A.. Two years ago, I was on assignment as the Snowman. I was tasked to kill an undercover agent of the C.I.A. who was on a mission in Berlin. She was very close to discovering us, but she was good, Jack. The best I've seen. She got the best of me and stabbed me in the gut. I wanted to complete my mission, plus get a little revenge. I found out who she really was, and...It was Sydney Sloane. Sloane's daughter is C.I.A.. He didn't know it at the time, still doesn't, but he tried to off his own daughter."

Jack's head ignited in a furious red rage as he heard those words. Whatever reservations he held for Arvin Sloane and their "friendship" dissolved as he gripped the gun tighter in his hand. Then he thought of Sydney. There were many things he felt in that moment as he thought about Sydney as a C.I.A. agent. He'd thought once that she would be a great agent for the agency. She was so intelligent and resourceful. Fearless. To actually hear that she was with the agency should have terrified him. It did, but, to know that his daughter got the best of Noah Hicks filled him with so much love and pride it was hard to stay upset with her. Sydney had gutted the Snowman.

Now, it was his turn to finish him off. He knew Noah wouldn't give him anything else. Jack went over to the controls that controlled the cargo bay ramp and the telephone that patched in through to the cockpit. He spoke to the co-pilot as he told him, "Commencing airdrop. Maintain cruising speed and make descent to an altitude of 1000 feet."

"Roger that," the co-pilot responded.

Jack hung up the phone as the plane started to descend. There was a red light over the cargo bay door and once they got to 1000 feet, it would turn green.

Noah must have realized what was happening because he suddenly paled as he started to scramble forward. Taking aim, he shot him in the leg, sending him to the floor in pain. "Jack! What are you doing?! We can use this-"

"There is no "we"," he told him as the light went green. Jack hit the button and the bay ramp started to drop. The wind whipped around the cargo hold but it wasn't strong enough at this altitude to pull them out. Beyond the door was the vast openness of air.

"What're you going to do? Kill me and dump my dead body?"

"Who said anything about killing you first?"

Noah's eyes widened at the realization of his fate. "Please, Jack, please, wait. We can use this against him. Use Sydney to-"

"Sydney isn't Sloane's daughter, Noah. She's mine," Jack told him right before he kicked him backwards.

Noah tumbled over his bound arms, twisting and screaming, out the cargo bay door. He dropped over the side and the last Jack saw of Noah Hicks, he was spiraling down towards the earth below.

TBC...